


Swipe Right

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Prompt Fills [24]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Online Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: Bill is certain, at this point, that the Doctor has a vendetta against her love life. There was the Freaky Space Puddle Affair, then the Pope Incident, and now it turns out that her Tinder date is an immortal bisexual English teacher who's determined on catfishing her in order to meet her tutor. She'd like to be mad, but then again not all catfish are as keen on spooning as Clara Oswald seems to be, so maybe Bill can forgive the Doctor. But this really is the last time.





	Swipe Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owedbetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owedbetter/gifts).



> For [Jo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/owedbetter/pseuds/owedbetter), who prompted:
> 
>  
> 
> _I like to imagine Bill popping into the diner because she got set up on a blind Tinder date, not knowing it was a catfish from Clara, just because Clara wants to know how he is, and she really wanted to meet Bill._

 

Bill Potts was not, if she was entirely honest with herself, sure why she was walking through a particularly rundown area of the city centre, dressed _slightly_ too formally for the time of day, and wearing a dark lipstick she’d only dared wear once before in the six months since she’d purchased it. Well. She _was_ sure. She’d been idly swiping through the – admittedly not extensive – selection of fellow gay women in Bristol on Tinder the night before, and alighted on a woman who was, even by Bill’s low-slash-realistic standards, way out of her league. She’d swiped right anyway though, never expecting anything to come of the matter, but then this improbably gorgeous girl had matched with her, and she’d fallen out of bed. Moira had knocked on her door then, and she’d blushed and stammered a lie, and then she’d settled in to an evening of flirting, which had culminated in a maddeningly vague yet equally suggestive lunch invite. And now here she was, heading towards what had been described helpfully as “an American diner,” praying that the Doctor wouldn’t feel the need to interrupt this date like her last one. She shot a warning look up at the sky and thought hard: _No Popes please. Not this time. Not ever again. Or else._  

She thought idly back to the night before, and the invite to the diner. 

_There’s not a diner in the Cultural Quarter though. I basically live down there, like… I think I’d know._

**_It’s new. Just opened._ ** ****

_Alright, so where is it then?_

**_Trust me, you’ll be able to find it. It’s hard to miss._ **

Right. Like those weren’t the vaguest instructions she’d ever received, and that was _after_ the Doctor had offered her a ‘helpful’ guide to the library last week, which had consisted of a loosely folded leaflet with the words “FIND BOOKS” scrawled in it in purple Sharpie. She grinned to herself with an exasperated little eye roll, then wandered down a narrow backstreet that boasted a number of independent bookshops and cafes, tucked away behind brightly-painted facades and displays of artistic-looking vintage teacups. 

After perusing a couple of the shops’ outside displays of goods for interesting reading material, Bill looked up, and blinked in consternation. A couple of months ago, she might have shrieked, but she’d learned from the Doctor that such behaviour was usually a bad idea, and knocked it off pretty sharpish after that.

The cause of her surprise was that at the end of the street, where there definitely didn’t used to be a building, there was now an American diner. Somewhat dated looking, with a flickering neon sign and oddly opaque windows, it sat there, beckoning to her with an odd kind of aura that she couldn’t quite place. Although odd, that in itself was not the weird part. The weird part was that no one else in the vicinity appeared to have noticed the new structure, and instead, the crowd was bustling past it as though it weren’t there. She thought about stopping someone to ask them, to check that she wasn’t going mad, then thought better of it, and headed towards the mysterious food outlet with a shrug. If this was a mirage, at least it might contain a pretty girl. Or so she sincerely hoped. 

Pulling open the door, she was even more perplexed to find the place deserted. It was lunchtime in Bristol, and yet… this place was empty, and worse still, she couldn’t even smell food. _OK,_ she thought to herself, loitering on the threshold. _This is getting a bit… odd. What if I’m gonna get kidnapped? A Pope would be great right now. A Doctor even better._  

She took a couple of steps forwards, trying to appear braver than she felt, and then thought _sod it,_ sinking into a booth, putting her head in her hands and trying to come up with a game plan. She took out her phone, clicked the screen on to text the Doctor, and found… no signal. She was in the city centre, and there was no signal. There was no way that a lack of connectivity boded well for her chances of not getting murdered. 

“Sorry about that,” a bright voice said, interrupting her panicked inner monologue, and a woman flung herself into the seat opposite her, gesturing towards Bill’s iPhone. She was dressed in a green, oddly-patterned dress, and her chestnut hair was tucked behind her ears as she beamed at Bill widely, her brown eyes full of warm curiosity. “Had to take a couple of precautions with the comms situation. Can’t have you sticking anything on Twitter.” 

“Sorry, but who are you?” Bill asked, although frankly, she wasn’t complaining. Quite the opposite. This woman was cute, sure, but more than that, she was also _gorgeous._ “I’m here to meet Ashildr, do you know-” 

“Sorry again,” the woman made an apologetic face, and the penny dropped. Bill wanted to be mad, but really… the situation could be much worse than being alone in a diner with an attractive stranger. “I might have sort of… catfished you. Just a little bit.” 

“Well,” Bill tried not to grin too widely. “I am… not objecting.” _Dammit, that sounded embarrassingly desperate. What if she thinks I’m-_

The stranger laughed, and it was a light, cheerful sound that reassured Bill somewhat. “I’m the Teacher,” she offered her hand to shake, and Bill took it, finding her skin oddly cool to the touch. “Also known as-”

“Sorry, but are you one of the Doctor’s mates?” Bill blurted before she could stop herself, her own curiosity getting the better of her. “Because you’re really cold, and you’ve got a weird name, and this…” she gestured expansively to the room around them. “This is a TARDIS, isn’t it? That’s why no one else could see it, outside.” 

The woman let out of a low whistle of approval. “Damn, you’re good.”

Bill blushed, dropping her gaze to her phone. 

“Yes, this is a TARDIS, and yes, I am one of the Doctor’s…” the woman hesitated for a moment, in a way that might have been suggestive had Bill been paying closer attention. “Friends. But I’m not one of his people, no.”

“Why are you cold, then?”

“Because of a thing that happened.” 

“Oh my god,” Bill’s eyes went wide, and she looked back up at the stranger with a mix of fascination and horror. “Are you like, an actual zombie? Or a vampire? Is this gonna be like _Night of the Living Dead?_ ”

“No,” the woman laughed. “It isn’t, and I’m not. I guess I shouldn’t have started with my title. I’m Clara Oswald, formerly of Shoreditch, London, and before that, originally of Blackpool. I used to be a schoolteacher.”

“Figures,” Bill teased. “Nice accent.”

“Thanks,” Clara grinned. “I ah… I travelled with the Doctor. Before you did.”

“Oh,” Bill wasn’t sure how to feel about that. _Jealous? No, that doesn’t seem right. Curious? Obviously, that’s a given – he never talks about his past. Intrigued? Oh, definitely. He’s been hanging out with gorgeous women and not telling me? I will be Having Words with that man later. Or tomorrow. Whichever._ “What happened?” 

“I died.”

“I’m not being funny right, but you’re sat here having a chat with me, casual as, and you just told me you aren’t dead.”

“Well, I _was_ dead, and then he did something clever, and now…” Clara reached over and took Bill’s hand, placing her fingers over her pulse point. It took a moment for Bill’s own heart to stop thundering long enough for her to notice the oddity.

Clara had no pulse.

Bill jerked her hand away, wide-eyed with shock. “But that’s… how is that… that shouldn’t be a thing,” she stammered. “I mean, I’m not tryna be rude here, but that’s… how are you walking about and talking and such? It’s not like _Twilight,_ is it? You’re not going ‘round pulverising rocks and sparkling?” 

Clara’s mouth twitched into a smile. “No, I’m not,” she assured Bill. “I’m frozen between heartbeats. It’s… complicated.” 

“I’m clever.” 

“So am I,” Clara said at once, without so much as batting an eyelid, and Bill had to admire her self-confidence. “And I don’t understand it either. The only person that might is the Doctor, and well…”

“Why don’t you ask him to explain it then?” 

“It’s… difficult.” 

“Difficult how?” 

“We have… history.” 

“Oh my god, are you his ex?” Bill’s eyes widened in realisation, and she felt her heart sink. She’d really been hoping she might be in with a chance here, but apparently, she was wrong. _Idiot_. “He keeps going on about a wife.” 

“I’m not the wife,” Clara looked a touch embarrassed about that fact, and Bill idly wondered – not for the first time – about the Doctor’s moral compass. “But I did… he did… we were… that is…” she gestured vaguely as she stumbled over her words. “You know.”

“He doesn’t mention you,” Bill said, then kicked herself for her rudeness. “I mean, did things end pretty badly, or what?” 

“He doesn’t have a clue who I am,” Clara confessed, and Bill raised her eyebrows. “Don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t stalking him! Just… he wiped his memory of me. He had to. Things were getting out of control, and that was the only way out.” 

“Shit.” 

“Yeah, shit,” Clara swallowed, looking down at the table, and when she looked up again, Bill noticed there were tears in her eyes. “How is he?” 

“He’s good, yeah,” Bill hesitated for a moment, wondering how honest she should be. “Blind.” 

“What?!” Clara asked, visibly horrified by the information. “What do you mean, blind?!” 

“I mean, like, he can’t see,” Bill mumbled, feeling abruptly guilty that she was the cause of his blindness, and thus Clara’s distress. “Anything. He keeps trying to fix it.”

“How the hell did he end up blind?!”

“Rescuing me from the vacuum of space,” Bill admitted in a small voice, worried the revelation might make Clara hate her. “My helmet malfunctioned.” 

Clara only smiled sadly, a single tear bisecting her cheek, and she brushed it away. “That sounds like him, yeah. Always one to play the hero, even at the cost of his own safety. Idiot. Absolute space idiot. At least now he’s ah… he’s teaching, right? At the university? Seems pretty safe.” 

“Yeah…” Bill confirmed, feeling a sneaking suspicion of what Clara was going to say next. “Why?” 

“No reason,” Clara said airily. “None at all. Don’t suppose you fancy seeing what a woman can do with a TARDIS interior design package?”

“Oh, my god,” she shook her head, understanding Clara’s intentions at once. “No. No way. I know what you’re thinking of doing, and I’m here to say: don’t.” 

“Why?” Clara asked, arching an eyebrow in a silent challenge. “I just wanna stop by and see how he’s doing.” 

“And I just wanna tell you: that is a _bad_ idea. You said he wiped his memories because things were getting out of control. Well, I assume that means things were getting dangerous, so what happens if they come back?” 

“No idea,” Clara said pragmatically, although Bill could tell she was worried by the thought. “Why don’t we find out?” 

“That is a literally such a terrible idea that I don’t know where to begin.” 

“Excuse me, it’s a _great_ idea.” 

“Look, no offence right, cos you’re cute and all, but when you said you were catfishing me, I was envisioning like, actual gay shit, not facilitating your hetero love story.” 

“Who said there won’t be actual gay shit?” Clara questioned, meeting Bill’s gaze and quirking an eyebrow. 

“Urm, you did basically imply it with the whole ‘we have history’ thing with the Doctor. Who’s a bloke.”

“Well, never say never.” 

“Really not getting any gay vibes, here, and I don’t sleep with straight chicks.” 

“I’m not a straight chick,” Clara winked, and Bill blushed as she understood. “Adjust your Bi-Fi.”

“OK, so firstly, sorry about my complete inability to spot an actual queer woman, and secondly, I am not… _pity-shagging_ you after this goes terribly wrong!” 

“I’m not asking you to,” Clara rolled her eyes, then smirked. “Pity _spooning,_ possibly.” 

“Dear god, this is just…” Bill sighed, realising she wasn’t averse to the idea of spooning Clara. “Fine. Fine, I will facilitate your hetero shit, but it better be good spooning.” 

“That’s more like it. I can assure you the spooning will be excellent, but first: my TARDIS, or walking?” 

“Walking seems subtler than landing this by the uni,” Bill noted, looking around at the aggressively fifties decor. “I mean, people might notice this. Especially starving students.” 

“Good point,” Clara got to her feet, and looked expectantly from Bill to the doors and then back again. “Lead the way.” 

“Why am I…” 

“You’re local.” 

“Well, I’m not, I’m from London,” Bill argued, standing up and grabbing her bag nonetheless. “So…” 

“Well, you have more experience of the place than I do, so I’m following you.” 

“Fine,” Bill acquiesced, stepping outside with Clara hot on her heels. A thought occurred to her and she turned around to squint at the smaller woman, finding her refreshingly not-sparkly, and she allowed herself to relax a modicum. “Good.” 

“What is?” 

“Your lack of glitteriness.” 

“Told you: not a vampire, just an immortal.” 

“Oh yeah, just casually saying that in the middle of a busy street is so subtle.” 

“Please, like anyone is paying us the blindest bit of attention. Or taking me seriously. I’m five foot two, people don’t generally notice me.” 

Bill looked around, observing how everyone around them was absorbed in their own business, and she had to admit that Clara had a point. She shrugged noncommittally, heading back towards uni and shoving her hands deep in her pockets as they walked through the tepid, sun-baked streets. 

“This is a mad idea,” she said after a solid five minutes of only mildly awkward silence. “Like, a properly mad idea. Not to mention the worst catfishing ever.”

“Look, I know it was wrong of me but… I just wanna _see_ him. And I just wanted to meet you and check that you were nice, which you are, and the cuteness is a bonus.” 

“Well, thanks, but… Just don’t get all bloody _Romeo and Juliet_ on me, OK? No suicide pacts or weird stuff like eloping in the TARDIS. And if he catches fire or some shit like that, it’s entirely on you. Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

Bill led them into the cool interior of the university, trying to work out where the Doctor would most likely be at this hour. Lecturing? No, wrong time of day. Seminars? No, he’d managed to wriggle out of those for the time being, particularly given the lack of sight. His office seemed the most likely place, but also the most difficult in terms of somehow letting Clara get a glimpse of him. Beside her, Clara seemed to sense her uncertainty. 

“What?” she asked, looking at Bill and chewing her lip. 

“…does that heal?” Bill asked, struck by the sudden question. “Your lip, I mean? If you get hurt, what happens? Are you stuck like it forever? Cos that would suck. You’d end up like, chewing off your nails and ending up with loads of puncture holes, and then you really _would_ look like a zombie.” 

“No, it just… sort of vanishes. I did a lot of experimenting back when this was a new state of affairs. It was kind of fun, in a weird way, and my friend helped out, possibly with a little too much relish. I’m time-looped, so I just revert to how I was _when_ I was time-looped. Which, thankfully, was pretty much intact, save for a couple of godawful hangnails.” 

“Right,” Bill wanted to continue asking questions, but figured it probably wasn’t the time or place to do so. “He’ll be in his office, so I have absolutely zero clue how to play this, if I’m honest.”

“He doesn’t know my voice,” Clara began nervously, her attention now focused on picking at her aforementioned hangnails. “I could just… come in with you and say I was a new student.”

“Hang on, how do you know that?” Bill said suspiciously, looking down at Clara and narrowing her eyes. “If you’ve been keeping tabs on him and you know that, then why am _I_ here?” 

“That was a while ago,” Clara admitted, looking upset at the recollection. “A _long_ while ago. We had a whole conversation but he didn’t… he didn’t have a clue who I was.” 

Bill felt a crushing sense of empathy for Clara’s situation, and she thought about offering her a hug before realising that it might not be helpful. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I guess your plan’s alright, yeah.” 

“Had lots of practice at making plans.” 

“Don’t get cocky,” Bill teased, heading upstairs and trailing along corridors until they were stood outside the door to the Doctor’s study. Not that she’d have admitted it to Clara, but she was nervous about this. Mainly that he might burst into flames or something similarly awful, and then she’d be out of a tutor _and_ out of a means to explore time and space. _Not to mention a friend,_ she thought to herself with a pang of sadness. _Well. Friend-slash-grandfather figure. Not that I’ll be telling him that._ “You ready for this?” 

“No,” Clara said, sounding terrified. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” 

Figuring there was no time like the present, Bill raised her fist and knocked twice, then waited for a reply. 

“Yes?” called a familiar Scottish voice, and beside her, Clara clutched at her hand, interlacing their fingers and clinging to her for support. _Could be worse,_ Bill reasoned, suppressing a smug grin. _Could be much worse._  

“Oh god,” Clara said under her breath, as Bill opened the door and stepped over the threshold. “Oh…”

Bill watched as Clara took in the sight of the Doctor, who was, as was common these days, sat behind his desk, feet up, and a laptop perched on his knees, earphones tucked securely into his ears. He was wearing the burgundy velvet jacket he’d suddenly become fond of lately, and his sunglasses were firmly ensconced on his nose, providing him with both a degree of coolness and a plethora of information about his surroundings. Clara’s face lit up, and then her eyes filled with tears, and it was a good thing that Bill was holding her hand or she suspected Clara might have launched herself into the Doctor’s confused arms.

“Bill, I’m assuming,” the Doctor half-asked, half-stated, taking out his earphones in a respectful gesture she’d had to teach him the week before. “And friend?” 

“Yeah, this is-” 

“Emma,” Clara said in an overly-bright tone that Bill recognised as masking her need to break down and cry. “Emma Bennet.” 

“Did your parents like Jane Austen?” he asked, and Clara’s face fell, and Bill felt her heart break as the immortal began to cry silently.

“Yeah,” she managed, her voice miraculously even despite her tears. “Yeah, they did.” 

“Can’t say I blame them,” he grinned. “She’s a wonderful woman. Plays a mean game of poker. How can I help?” 

“Emma’s heard great things about you,” Bill said in a sunny tone, squeezing Clara’s hand supportively. “Wanted to come and meet the famous Doctor.”

“Well, it’s nice having a fan club,” he said with a smile, shifting the laptop from his legs and taking his feet off the desk, leaning forward and beaming in their vague direction. “What are you studying?” 

“English,” Clara said in a small voice, and the Doctor either didn’t notice or didn’t comment on the tremor in her voice. “English Lit.” 

“Superb choice. Can’t say I can offer much in the way of advice, more of a science and history man myself, but still – a worthy cause.” 

“Are…” Clara swallowed, then asked. “Are you doing OK?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Just… heard a few rumours about the famous Doctor,” Clara forced a laugh. “You know what students are like, always gossiping about their lecturers.” 

“You don’t want to listen to rumours, they only misinform,” the Doctor scoffed, and Bill sensed rather than saw his eye roll. “I’m doing great. Peachy keen and totally tip-top. At the top of my game. What is it the young people say? ‘On point’? You get the general idea; all the clichés.” 

Clara smiled sadly. “Good to know.”

“Aside from being my wonderful self, is there anything else I can do for you ladies?” 

Clara shook her head, then seemed to remember that the Doctor couldn’t see her. “No,” she mumbled, her voice almost inaudible. “No, it’s… we’re…” She turned and bolted from the room before Bill could stop her, leaving the Doctor frowning in confusion. 

“Sorry,” Bill said apologetically. “She’s a bit… highly strung. See you tomorrow for a tutorial, yeah? Usual time?”

“Yes, but-” 

Bill didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, because she was already halfway down the corridor, chasing after Clara with a heavy heart.

 

* * *

 

“Thanks,” Clara exhaled shakily, arranging herself more comfortably in the next of pillows on Bill’s bed, then accepting the proffered cup of tea with a grateful smile which Bill returned shyly. It had been a while since she’d had anyone in her bedroom, let alone anyone so adorable and entirely eager to throw themselves onto her bed. “Sorry about earlier.” 

“S’ok,” Bill told her, sitting next to Clara and crossing her legs, wrapping her hands around her mug and blowing on the scalding liquid. “If I was you, I’d be a bit overwhelmed too. I mean, I _am_ – the whole blindness thing is… a lot, really, and I keep apologising but he doesn’t seem to listen to me when I say that.” 

“He doesn’t like people apologising,” Clara told her, sighing. “Never did. But he seems… happy.”

“I think he is, yeah. He seems to like working at the uni… talks about the most random stuff in lectures, but people like h-”

Clara’s arm snaked around Bill’s waist before she could finish her sentence, and then Clara scooted closer to her, resting her head on the student’s shoulder with a content little exhale. Bill prayed her heart wasn’t racing too loudly, and took a sip of tea to fortify herself. “Sorry,” Clara mumbled, closing her eyes and visibly relaxing. “Just… been a while since I’ve been able to do this with someone normal. By which I mean not-immortal, so please don’t take offence.” 

“It’s fine,” Bill stammered, her brain short-circuiting in response to Clara’s proximity to her. “Totally fine and completely understandable. Happy to be your totally normal spooning partner.” 

Clara hummed happily by way of response, placing her tea on the side and fully cuddling into Bill, who was slowly turning red and thanking god that Clara couldn’t see her face. “Thank you for not being weird,” the tiny English teacher murmured, blessedly not looking up as she spoke. “Thank you for letting me see him.” 

“That’s alright, honestly,” Bill said, taking another shaky gulp of tea and wishing her hands would stop trembling. “Glad I could help.” 

“Sorry about being a rubbish catfish.” 

“I’ll forgive you, cos you are least cute, and a woman.” 

Clara giggled weakly. “Am I cute?” 

“Yes,” Bill said honestly, regaining her confidence. “Very. Incredibly. Hella.”

“Good to know.” 

“Which brings me to… well, you know, like… aside from all the tragic hetero love story thing, which is obviously terrible and I’m not trying to downplay or anything but… could we maybe… go on an actual date tomorrow? Like, just a friendly one? With drinks or coffee or whatever? Because you seem nice and like… I could get on board with that. Immortality aside, and all.” 

Clara looked up at her for a long moment, and Bill prayed that the semi-darkness of her room concealed her blushing. “Coffee as friends would be nice,” she decided, then grinned cheekily. “Can we pity spoon first?” 

“Definitely.” 

 _How is it,_ Bill thought to herself with only mild bitterness, as she ditched her mug of tea and curled up to Clara, trying not to be too weirded out by her lack of a heartbeat. _That the Doctor manages to mess up all my dates, even when he isn’t here? I don’t know what the lady version of cockblocking is, but he seems determined to do it._

A second later, that irate thought was replaced with: _Then again, this is a rather nice spooning sesh._


End file.
